


the season for loving

by scepticallyopenminded



Series: sterek holiday special 2018 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Mates, Multi, New Relationship, Nonverbal Communication, Overuse of italics, POV Alternating, Valentine's Day, minor freak outs, overuse of the word fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: In less than a week it’s Valentine’s Day, and Derek is feeling the pressure.He’s twenty-eight fucking years old, and he’s been in relationships on Valentine’s Day before. In fact, he’d been with his college girlfriend for three years, through three Valentine’s Days, but he’s never felt this much pressure to do something – big, and romantic, something that clearly shows his – fuck, not love, even if he feels that way he knows without a fucking doubt he’s not going to tell Stiles yet that he loves him.





	the season for loving

**Author's Note:**

> first off, fuck me.  
> second off, fuck me some more.  
> yeah, this is a V-Day fic coming on out in April, but alas, fuck meeeee. 
> 
> title from "Time of the Season" by The Zombies.
> 
> I'm still goiiiing, St. Patty's Day fic has been begun and will be posted asap, Easter fic coming soon after that, and hopefully May's holiday fic (will probs be Mother's Day) will hopefully be up ON MOTHER'S DAY. 
> 
> finally, again, once more, honestly, fuck me though.

In less than a week it’s Valentine’s Day, and Derek is feeling the pressure.

He’s twenty-eight fucking years old, and he’s been in relationships on Valentine’s Day before. In fact, he’d been with his college girlfriend for _three years_ , through _three Valentine’s Days_ , but he’s never felt this much pressure to do something – big, and romantic, something that clearly shows his – fuck, not love, even if he _feels_ that way he knows without a fucking doubt he’s not going to tell _Stiles_ yet that he _loves_ him.

It’s not directly Stiles’ fault; he hasn’t even mentioned Valentine’s Day and Derek is pretty sure he doesn’t realize how close it is. To be fair to Stiles, he’s been particularly caught up in projects he’s been working on; the restoration of some twenty-thousand-dollar antique Victorian desk and a four-thousand-dollar painting, both of which have been taking a lot of his time.

But on the other hand, it’s indirectly Stiles’ fault. Because while Derek’s spent at least five Valentine’s Days in relationships, and another one or two on dates (which - Derek can tell you with absolute certainty - February 14th is not a good day to go on a blind date. Too many expectations), he’s never spent it with his mate, never even dared to imagine he would because even though they’re oddly common within the Hale pack, Fated couples are astonishingly rare among ‘wolves.

So Derek wants to make this day special, the fact that they’ve only been dating for just over a month be damned. Fact of the matter is, considering they’re both supernatural, there’s a very small chance this isn’t _it_ for the them both, regardless of their agreement to treat this like any other relationship and take things one step at a time. But he doesn’t know how to make it special.

“Is dinner enough? Or should I go all out, rent out a restaurant?”

He’s lying on the couch in the townhouse, staring up at the ceiling and musing mostly to himself but also to Cora and Erica, the only two who are currently home. They’re attempting to watch some Bridezilla show over the sound of his breakdown, both finding some kind of entertainment in the show. The bride is right now discussing with her husband-to-be whether its more worth it to buy the thirteen-thousand-dollar wedding dress she really likes or to take that money and use it to find the “perfect venue”. Derek, for his part barely paying attention, cannot imagine even spending thirteen thousand dollars on his entire _wedding_ , and he grew up in an upper-class household.

Erica, who’s been ignoring him completely for at least ten minutes, telling him “This is way more interesting than your love life, Derek,”, sighs and turns up the volume a little more. Cora, bless her though she’s clearly getting sick of his shit too, raises her eyebrows at him.

“You’ve been dating a month, Der, and anyway, it’s an overhyped holiday created purely to drive sales of useless items.”

Erica has apparently still been paying attention, because she laughs. They’ve all heard Cora’s rant about Valentine’s Day, it’s not a new point of view from her at all, but that doesn’t make it any less fun to hear her declaim.

“Plus, it’s Stiles,” Erica decides to contribute, though when Derek glances over at her she’s still seemingly invested in the show, where the bride and her mom are now arguing about centerpieces, “He’s pretty laid back. He’d probably accept a session of Netflix and takeout as the perfect Valentine’s gift.”

Derek sighs, goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“I just want to go all out, y’know? Make it a Valentine’s Day to remember.”

“I again throw out the notion that you’ve only been dating just over a month, and regardless of the fact that it’s supposedly the most romantic holiday, neither of you should really expect so much. Plus, it’s on a Wednesday, so you’ll both probably have to work all day.”

“I do,” Derek admits, “Actually overtime. We’re supposed to get in a huge shipment on Tuesday night from a private collector who recently died, and I have to be there bright and early to help inventory and sort them.”

“So don’t do anything extraordinary. Just - why don’t you just fucking ask Stiles what he wants?” Cora looks incredulously at him, a little disgusted, like she can’t believe he hasn’t thought of that yet. Probably disgusted that _she_ hasn’t thought of that until just now. Derek sits up.

“I wanted to surprise him,” he tells her, and this is enough to make Erica tear her eyes away from the TV as both she and Cora give him this look.

“While not inherently bad to surprise your significant other, I don’t know that it’s particularly good to surprise your significant other with anything other than, like, a small present the first Valentine’s Day you spend together,” Erica says, and Cora is nodding her head in agreement.

“While I recognize that not everyone is like me and hates surprises anytime of any kind, I’d agree that your first V-Day together may not be the best time to spring anything huge. Even if Stiles has, like, _zero_ expectations of the day, it’s probably best to figure out what you want to do together, y’know, _together_.”

Derek shrugs - he doesn’t disagree with them, the first Valentine’s Day he’d been with Braeden they’d both been way too poor, college students in their second year, to do anything besides rent a movie and eat spaghetti, so there definitely hadn’t been any expectations there - but he wants this to be particularly special. He tells them as much.

“‘Cause he’s it, y’know? I want it to be memorable.”

No matter how much Erica claims to not give a shit about any of their lives, Derek sees that small smile on her face when he says that, even though she’s apparently absorbed in the TV show again. Cora, on the other hand, is looking at him like he’s grown another head or something.

“He’s _it_? Der, please don’t put too many expectations on this relationship. You’ve been together just over one month.”

Erica speaks up, turning her head to face Cora this time.

“Nah, I get where he’s coming from. As soon as I knew Boyd and I were Fated I knew without a doubt he was it for me, and he was human at the time and didn’t even know about ‘wolves. And Stiles is supernatural himself, he felt the same thing as Derek. Sure, they could break up, but the universe is pretty much saying they’re super good for each other, so I don’t see it happening.”

“Besides,” Derek cuts in, eyeing Cora dubiously, “I’m pretty sure you were the one telling everyone you were going to marry Isaac about two months after you met him, before you were even dating, and you aren’t even Fated.”

Cora shrugs, and she never flushes but Derek can spot the tips of her ears turning slightly red, the tell-tale sign of a Hale who’s embarrassed. She’d been sixteen at the time, Isaac the new kid in school. Though she’s always passed herself off as having few emotions and being inscrutable, anyone who knows her knows how deeply she loves those closest to her - namely, her pack, her friends and family. And occasionally, her façade breaks, as it had when she’d met and befriended Isaac.

“When you know you know,” she says now, and a moment later it seems to click for her.

“I’m just saying,” she continues before Derek can say anything, “I was right about Isaac, okay? And though I like Stiles and recognize that he’s like, a really good person and really good with you, I want you to be careful and not put too much stock in this relationship and end up hurt.”

And as per her norm, Cora shrugs it off, turning back to the TV, but Derek knows. How much she cares. He smiles, watching her for a moment before laying back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling again.

Maybe he _should_ just ask Stiles what he wants to do and give up on the whole surprise.

*

“So whatya and Derek doing Wednesday?” Yolanda asks, jumping up on the desk next to where Stiles is on the computer, trying to find very specific colors of oils for this god damn painting he’s trying to restore. The specific type of paint – and _yes_ , he’s looking for the _specific colors of paint_ , he’s been restoring furniture and paintings for a few years now and the biggest thing he’s learned is that he refuses to cut corners unless it’s absolutely necessary – is hard to find now, though not impossible if you’re willing to pay the right price and know where to look.

He looks up from the computer just long enough to glance at Yolanda, eyebrows scrunched together. It’s Saturday, he hasn’t seen Derek since Thursday, and he has no idea what’s happening on Wednesday.

“Wednesday?” he asks, turning back to the screen and scrolling through the website he’s on.

“Uh, yeah. Valentine’s Day?”

Stiles stops, eyes widening as he continues staring at the computer. _Shiiiit_.

“Shit,” he voices, flicking his gaze back to Yolanda, who’s watching him with thinly veiled amusement.

“You forgot?” she asks, laughter on the edge of her voice. Stiles nods, eyes still wide and damn, how did he forget.

“I’ve just been so busy with this desk and painting, plus all the other stuff I’ve been in charge of, I totally didn’t realize it’s so close,” he says, tapping his foot on the ground to try to get off some of the nerves, “Fuck, I haven’t even _thought_ about what to get him.”

Yolanda shrugs, sticking her hands in the apron she wears around the workshop.

“I mean, it’s your first Valentine’s together, he probably doesn’t expect so much. Chad and I just went down to Majorie’s Bakery over on Eighth and split a big cookie our first, and we’d been together a few months at that point.”

Stiles shrugs - honestly, that’s not a bad idea, Marjorie’s makes the best fucking cookies in New York in his opinion - but he’s been crushing on Derek for ages, even if they’ve only been together a month, and besides, they’re Fated.

He knows Derek would prefer to act as if they’re just any other couple, but Stiles - and maybe it’s just his magic acting up, since being Fated is literally all about the universe’s magic - he knows this is pretty much it. Derek is pretty much it. They’re just good together, and Stiles knows without a doubt that at least on his side, he’s never going to find someone better for him than Derek.

And even though he hasn’t thought about it until now, now that he is thinking about it he wants this Valentine’s Day to be special. Except - does Derek even celebrate? Stiles knows not everyone does; Lydia has been vocal in the past about Valentine’s Day being annoying and useless, and Jackson, though quieter about it, seems to think the same. Allison and Scott made a pact when they got together in high school to not buy each other things for the holiday, and (unfortunately for Stiles, who has lived with them since sophomore year of college) they usually celebrate these days by having sex the entire evening.

And while Stiles has never felt a particular attachment to the holiday, probably in part because he’s been single most of the Valentine’s Day’s in his adult life (read: spent one single one with someone, his sophomore year of college, and that relationship had been _very_ short lived), he wants Derek to feel special on the day, at least. Unless, of course, he doesn't celebrate.

He should probably talk to Derek about it, and that thought leads him to wonder why Derek hasn’t said anything to him yet, except that maybe he doesn’t realize it’s so close, either; he’s been busy too, the last week or so, thanks to a bout of sickness that’s knocked out almost half the NYPL’s usual staff, meaning every _healthy_ person has to work double-time.

“You okay?” Yolanda asks him. She’s looking at him weirdly, and Stiles realizes that he’s been making faces the last few moments. While he’s worked with Yolanda since landing the job at Centennial Restoration just a couple months after moving to the City, she’s still not quite used to his eccentricities. Like having long conversations with himself in his head.

“Fine. Just thinking about what we should do.”

“Well,” Yolanda jumps off the desk, shoving her hands in the pockets of her apron, “If you haven’t figured it out by tomorrow, throw me a text. Chad and I are going to a concert at a bar over in Manhattan. Tickets are like, ten bucks each and are still on sale, so we could grab some. You can join us.”

Stiles nods, smiling at her.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he replies, mind still awhirl.

Eventually, he gets back to looking for paint, and after another two hours he finally finds it - it’s expensive, but considering how much the painting is worth and how much the owners are paying him to restore it, it’s more than worth the little extra money to get the right paint.

By that time, it’s nearing six p.m., and he’s been at the shop since nine a.m. and they just got in some antiques that are going to need to be restored for resale the next week that he’ll have to pitch in on besides the two big projects he has going and he’s tired and beyond all that, mostly, he still can’t believe he fucking forgot about Valentine’s Day.

He calls Derek as he walks out of the shop, locking the door behind him.

“Hey,” Derek answers after two rings, sounding exhausted himself and oh, yeah, Stiles remembers, he was covering the front desk today, pulled a double shift because half the NYPL’s employees are out sick, a nasty bout of flu rounding down the staff.

“Hey,” Stiles responds, pulling his coat tighter around him as a frosty wind blows right in his face, “You wanna come over tonight?”

“I - ” Derek starts, and then a loud yawn interrupts him. Stiles chuckles, speaking up before Derek can.

“Or, I just got out of work. I can come ‘round to your place.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, “Was just about to order some Chinese. I’ll get enough for both of us.”

“You’re the best.” Stiles sighs, the thought of food tantalizing. He barely skimmed over lunch today, the store as busy as it always was on Saturdays and he and Yolanda switched off covering the front.

“‘Kay. See ya in a bit,” Derek says, and after another moment there’s the soft ‘click’ as he hangs up. Stiles smiles softly, glancing at his phone as “ended 1:02 Derek” blinks before sliding back to his home screen, a pic of him, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson at graduation. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and glances around at the few others on the sidewalks, this side of town not a hotspot for Saturday-night festivities, the relative cold and wet sleet across the streets a deterrent. He paused, sliding over to the building to allow for other passersby to go beyond, debating getting a taxi or not - but no, the townhouse was only about twenty blocks from the shop, and if he hurried he should easily beat the rain that was forecasted.

Stiles glances behind him to make sure the path was free, and started back up, pulling his bag close to him and heading west.

*

Thirty minutes later, Stiles hit the doorbell, shivering against the rain pelting him. Just his luck, with about five blocks to go it’d starting raining. Except not just raining; one moment the sky was cloudy, dark, with a slight fog, and in the very next moment there were big, fat raindrops coming from the sky in quick pace. Within a few minutes Stiles was soaked through his winter jacket, because of course when he’d pulled his umbrella from his bag and tried opening it he’d discovered that sometime between the last time he’d used it and now, two of the ribs had been broken and it wouldn’t open.

He shivers again just as the door opens, Derek standing there in sweatpants and a t-shirt and even soaked and cold, Stiles can’t help but feel absolute amazement that this incredibly beautiful man said yes to dating _him_. Derek blinks for a moment in confusion before he reaches out, gripping Stiles by the arm and dragging him inside with a “Jesus Christ, Stiles,” closing the door behind him.

“What the hell,” Derek grumbles as he turns around, staring at Stiles like he’s crazy. Stiles, for his part, just crosses his arms and shivers.

“Why didn’t you take a taxi? Or maybe even use a fucking umbrella,” Derek continues when Stiles says nothing in the five seconds Derek gives him. He blinks, shaking his head before wagging his finger at Stiles.

“Stay.”

Stiles does as told, standing in the entryway and listening to someone in the second floor living room watching something on TV, the soft patter of rain against the windows, and shivers again before Derek makes it back, holding two towels and what appear to be sweatpants and a sweater. He still looks grumpy, maybe pissed off at Stiles, and Stiles can’t really blame him; here he is, dripping onto the “original hardwood flooring” as Boyd had put it all because he didn’t want to a) call a Lyft or a taxi, or b) have a fucking working umbrella.

“Bathroom, now,” Derek sighs, pulling Stiles arms free from each other and taking his bag and - oh, yeah, Stiles thinks, glad it’s waterproofed because his fucking laptop is in there - and handing Stiles one of the towels and the clothes. After a moment of Stiles just staring, shivering, and blinking, Derek rolls his eyes but it’s with a small smile on his face. He pushes Stiles gently toward the first-floor bathroom, just a few feet from where they’re standing, and the push seems to spur Stiles into action as he stumbles the rest of the way himself.

Once in the bathroom it takes just a few minutes for him to strip out of his wet clothes - and god but skinny jeans are a bitch to get off when wet - and pull on what are obviously Derek’s clothes, so soft and warm. He gives his hair as good a toweling off as he can before depositing all his sopping clothes into the towel and picking the relatively heavy bundle up.

“Um,” he says when the opens the door and Derek’s standing there. His voice cracks, and Stiles realizes it’s the first words he’s spoken to anyone since saying “Bye” to Yolanda over two hours ago. He clears his throat, stepping forward and out of the bathroom.

Derek takes the bundle from him.

“I’m going to go put these in the dryer, and you,” he pauses, placing his free hand gently on the small of Stiles’ back and pressing him to the left just a little, “Are going to go to the kitchen. Food’s set out, take whatever you want. Kettle’s on in case you want some tea.”

Stiles shivers once more - even though they keep the heat at an average temperature, ‘wolves run hot and the apartment is old, letting in plenty of drafts - and nods, watching Derek make his way toward the stairs to the basement before he continues toward the kitchen, sniffing gratefully when he gets close and scents start drifting out. The kettle gives the barest hint of a whistle as he hits the kitchen, looking at the spread on the island. Chicken fried rice, egg rolls, egg drop soup, dumplings, and more.

He makes his way past the food to a cupboard, pulling down the mug he always used when he over - _his_ mug, Stiles thinks of it, but always quickly crosses that out because nothing here is his, he isn’t part of this pack and, although he can’t see himself with anyone but Derek, their relationship is still fresh. Stiles scrunches his nose as the thought once again flitters through his head, and then looks in the next cabinet over, eyes grazing over the selection of tea before settling on ginger chamomile. The kettle’s starting to really whistle now, and he shuts off the stove, grabbing it and pouring out the water.

Derek walks into the kitchen just as he’s finishing, and Stiles holds up the kettle with raised eyebrows.

“You want any?”

Derek shakes his head, grabbing a container of pork lo mein and the egg rolls.

“What do you want?” he asks, and Stiles points to the fried rice and the dumplings and Derek manages to grab those, too.

“Figured we might as well eat out of the containers, save plates.”

Stiles snorts, grabbing two of the sets of chopsticks sitting on the island as well and grabbing the container of dumplings out of Derek’s hands.

“Den or my bedroom?” Derek asks, and just as Stiles thinks about it he all out yawns, and blinks at Derek, who snorts.

“Bedroom it is.”

They make their way to the third floor - bypassing the living room, where Cora, Isaac, and Kira are watching _The Great British Bake Off_ and Stiles is tempted to stop there before he remembers that Derek has Netflix anyway and they can watch it whenever they want. He gives a nod and a “hey” to them and Cora waves back as Isaac just throws a glance his way and Kira smiles as bright as she ever does.

When they get to Derek’s bedroom Stiles automatically goes over to the right side of the bed, the side Derek never sleeps on and the side Stiles’d claimed as his soon after they’d started dating, setting his tea down on the side table and crossing his legs on the dark comforter; since his first night in the room on New Year’s Eve, he’s come to like the way the room is, beige walls and dark accents. It all feels very…very _Derek_. Neutral and simple, but also warm and inviting.

As Derek sits, handing Stiles’ food off to him and grabbing the remote for the TV from the TV stand, Stiles takes a moment to ruminate in tall that’s changed since they’ve started dating; the matching bedside tables Stiles had brought in to replace the single one Derek’d had before, the TV stand _plus_ 40-inch television Derek bought, stand filled with DVD’s he’d previously kept in a box in the back of his closet because Derek, maybe not so secretly, was a bit of a movie nerd.

There’s also – they’ve been dating a _month_ , Stiles’ reminds himself – a few of Stiles’ hoodies hanging up in his closet, bright hues breaking up the obvious color scheme previously happening there, one of Stiles’ grimoires laying on the dresser, a post-it on the mirror in Stiles’ clear handwriting reminding Derek of a movie premiere they had gone to the previous Friday, and Stiles knows that in the bathroom there’s an extra toothbrush, two towels hanging up to dry.

And Derek’s taken all that in stride, doesn’t seem to think anything of that he wakes up to Stiles practicing magic sometimes, always remembers to buy almond milk for Stiles’ coffee when they’re out because even though Kira and Isaac use it too, he uses it the _most_. It makes Stiles smile to himself as Derek turns on the TV, flipping to the Fire Stick and raising his eyebrows.

“What are we in the mood for tonight?”

Stiles shrugs, opening his chopsticks so he can start shoveling fried rice in his mouth, he is _starving_.

“Your choice. ‘M not picky tonight,” he replies, which causes Derek to raise his eyebrows because normally Stiles is _very_ picky about what he watches. Stiles shrugs again, picking up his rice.

“B-nine-nine it is, then,” Derek decides, clicking on the show, “Season 1 okay?”

Stiles nods, face already stuffed. Derek glances at him again, snorts, and clicks okay.

The finish their food midway in the second episode, Erica texting Derek just after the first with an _it okay if we raid the rest of the food??_ Derek had chuckled, showing the text to Stiles and asking, “You want anymore?”

“I’m full,” Stiles tells him, throwing the last dumpling in his mouth.

After all the containers are in the trash, Stiles cupping his tea carefully, now cool enough to drink, Derek pulls him over, arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Stiles falls asleep by the end of the third episode.

*

When he wakes up again, it’s late. The TV’s off, the lights are off, there’s some low murmuring from the floor below them but nothing too loud, the alarm clock on the dresser telling him in neon green block letters “11:04”. Stiles blinks, realizing he’s alone in Derek’s huge bed, and he glances around before realizing the bathroom light is on. There’s a flush, water running, and a few moments later the lights turned off, Derek coming back into the room. Stiles sniffs, barely able to make out Derek’s features in the pitch-black room, but he’s smiling fondly at Stiles.

“You okay to stay the night or you want me to drive you back to your place?” Derek asks softly, pausing at the edge of the bed. Stiles sniffs again, sitting up a little, yawns.

“Don’t hafta go in tomorrow ‘til late, so I’m good here.” He takes a half a second, blinks, “As long as you’re okay with it.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a moment, getting on the bed and pulling a couple of pillows over toward Stiles.

“I’m not in ‘til one,” he says eventually, laying down and pulling Stiles close, nudging his nose into the back of Stiles’ neck, “Stay.”

Stiles is exhausted, warm, content with Derek’s arm around his middle and his soft breath on the back of his neck. It’s not long before he’s near asleep again, the last thought that flickers through his mind, _Shit. Valentine’s Day._

*

Derek’s already up when he hears Stiles getting around two floors up. He _knows_ it’s Stiles, not one of the others, not only from where the noises are coming from, but – he’s pretty in-tune with Stiles’ heartbeat. Not just “pretty”, but _very_.

He remembers when he was younger, what his mom would say about his dad, who was human; that she could hear his heartbeat from near half a mile away, twice that in wolf form. Derek had always thought that was more myth than reality, until he’d met Stiles; when he was concentrating, he could easily pick out Stiles’ heartbeat, and when he was _close_ he didn’t even need to concentrate. It beat out a rhythm so clear and obvious that it became background noise, the song of Derek’s life.

So he knows the second Stiles wakes up, the momentary stutter while Stiles realizes Derek’s not there, followed by a steady cadence as Stiles stretches, gets up and heads to the bathroom.

He gets up from where he’s eating his own breakfast – yogurt with granola and a berry medley -  at the island, throws an unfrosted brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart in the toaster, takes the almond milk out of the fridge.  He sits back down, takes a bite of his breakfast and studies the New York Times’ crossword like he does every morning, filling out five and forty-two across before the toaster popped. Derek gets a napkin, placing the newly-toasted Pop-Tart on it before refilling his half-full mug of coffee. Stiles is at the top of the stairs, by now, and Derek’s phone goes off.

**Erica** _can u pick me up from work today? get off at 5:30_

He’s just finished answering Erica ( _Sure. I get out around same time, be there when I can._ ) when Stiles stumbles into the kitchen, still obviously sleepy, blinking against the bright light streaming through the wall of windows looking out onto their small courtyard, hair mussed and blanket print against his left cheek, still wearing Derek’s sweatpants and shirt. He smiles softly when he sees Derek and – and, but _god_ , Derek is _in love_. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles back and gestures over to where the coffee and Pop-Tart sit, heart beating much too fast and if Stiles had the advanced hearing of most of the people in Derek’s life he’d be watching him much more closely right now. As it is, Stiles has average senses, and just lights up when he sees the food, pours himself coffee and grabs the pastry and sits on the barstool right next to Derek.

“Morning,” he mumbles, yawning and taking a drink of coffee. Derek pushes the crossword over slightly so Stiles can get a better look at it, and after taking a bite of Pop-Tart Stiles sets his head down on Derek’s shoulder, studying the paper.

“Forty-five across. Eight.”

Derek looks down – “Number of bits in a byte” – and picks up his pencil again, filling it in. They go on like this for a while, Stiles a steady presence beside Derek, the heat of his body calming against Derek’s side, and yeah _. Yeah_. Derek’s in _deep_ , and it’s not like he didn’t know before, but it kind of hits him strongly as Stiles takes the pencil, filling out sixteen down and pops the last bit of breakfast into his mouth. Derek watches Stiles as Stiles continues staring at the crossword, bouncing the eraser of the pencil off his bottom lip, eyes moving rapidly around the page, and he’s just –

Kira comes bopping in the room, nearly bouncing, and both he and Stiles look up. The grin on her face is huge, and though she’s always been one of the most upbeat and optimistic people in Derek’s life, the expression clear on her face is one he’s rarely seen on anyone, ever. He cocks his head to the side, noting the slight flush as she reaches into the fridge, grabbing orange juice and an apple.

“You alright?” It’s Stiles who eventually asks the question as Kira gets down a glass. Her smile, impossibly, grows larger as she looks over at them, nodding, eyes sparkling.

“I, uh,” she starts, putting the orange juice back in the fridge and coming over to the island, leaning against the counter opposite the two of them, “I have a date on Valentine’s Day, is all.”

Derek tenses slightly – _right, fuck, Valentine’s Day_ , he’s completely forgotten since his freak out just two days ago, overwhelmed with the hours he’s been working to cover the shifts of everyone out with the bout of flu going around – and he feels Stiles tense slightly next to him. They glance at each other, and Stiles’ eyes are wide, light blush staining his cheeks, but then there’s still Kira, who may not be a ‘wolf but is still in Derek’s pack and still looks to him for leadership and approval. He looks back over at her, small smile on his lips as he again takes in her overall appearance.

“Malia?” he asks after another moment, and Kira presses her lips together, flushing even deeper. Stiles laughs.

“Congrats,” he tells Kira, hand coming up to wrap around Derek’s forearm, “And I know you’re pretty much the sweetest person in the world, but be careful with her, okay?”

Kira looks back to him, smile still on her face but eyes much more serious, nodding carefully.

“I will. Definitely. I know – she’s told me the whole story. And I know. I just – I’ll take care of her.”

The smile on Stiles’ face is soft, the face he only gets when mentioning someone in his pack, fond and easy-going.

“Anyway – I gotta go. You working today?” she looks at Derek to ask, who nods.

“One to fiveish. Covering the front again.”

“Cool. Don’t forget I’m cooking for the pack tonight. Stiles – you’re welcome, as always.”

Stiles nods in thanks.

“I got plans with Ally and Lydia anyway, but thanks. Maybe next time.”

“Alright. See ya guys later!” she yells as she runs back up the stairs to get dressed for work. She’s had the exact same schedule since starting at the bookstore – Monday thru Wednesday, open to 4pm, Sunday open to close – so it’s not hard to guess. Stiles’ hand tightens on Derek’s forearm as they listen to her bound up the stairs, and when Derek looks over Stiles is watching him with open expectance and maybe some anxiety.

“So,” he starts as soon as they meet eyes, “I don’t want to pressure you, or anything, so first – do you celebrate Valentine’s Day?”

And – right, Derek was thinking about V-Day, too, but he certainly isn’t expecting _that_ to be the question Stiles asks. It makes him pause, cocking his head to the side again and letting out one, short laugh.

“What?”

Stiles shrugs.

“I mean, Jackson and Lyds don’t celebrate, and Allison and Scott don’t ever buy each other anything for the day, so it’s not unheard of to _not_. It is just a holiday created to drive consumerism and capitalism, so like, if you’re not into celebrating it, I’m cool with that. I figured that’s the only reason you haven’t brought it up.”

Derek actually laughs this time – Stiles sounds so much like Cora it’s hilarious and weird, but stops when he sees that Stiles definitely looks anxious now but also maybe a little offended.

“Sorry, just – no. I have celebrated it in the past, but Cora – she literally gives us all this speech about Valentine’s Day every year, since she was eleven. But she’s really the only person I’ve ever heard it from in person, so it’s – not what I expected from you.”

Stiles nods, eyes going toward the ceiling, and then he huffs a laugh too, as if imagining Cora saying just that. It does fit the rest of her personality, so it’s not a far call.

“So you…do…celebrate, then?”

“I do,” Derek confirms, “I have before, yeah. I haven’t had anyone the past couple of years, but I have before that, yeah. The only reason I haven’t talked about it yet was because – I was gonna, uh,” Derek looks down, feeling the heat in his ears, “I was going to surprise you with something, but Erica and Cora advised me that probably wasn’t a good idea considering we’ve only been dating a short while.  And then everyone got sick, and I’ve been working every day long hours, and I forgot to talk to you about it.”

“Oh,” Stiles smiles shyly, biting at his lip, “Oh. Uh, okay, well. I personally forgot about it, been too busy lately at work, and I forgot it was even fucking February until Yolanda reminded me yesterday, so, uh. Was going to talk to you about it last night but then I walked ten blocks in the freezing rain and, well.”

“Of course,” Derek agrees – he’d been unable to think about anything other than making sure Stiles was okay the previous night when he’d shown up soaking wet and shivering, so _of course_ , “So. Well. What _do_ you want to do?”

“I dunno. I want to – to make it special, y’know?” Stiles looks up again, searching Derek’s face, “But nothing too, um, eccentric. Do you have to work that day?”

Derek knows Stiles’ schedule is much more flexible than his; Stiles made money almost purely off commission, so as long as work was being accomplished, most of the time his boss didn’t care when he came in/did his work except Fridays and Saturdays, when the front of the store had to be covered. Meanwhile, Derek –

“Yeah, I do. It’s a five a.m. day, we’re getting a shipment in Tuesday night. Going to be a long day.”

“So you’re going to be tired anyway.” Stiles shrugs, taking another drink of coffee, “Let’s not do anything too, I dunno, dramatic?”

Derek chuckles at his word choice, but nods in agreement.

“I was thinking, maybe, just dinner. There’s gotta be a few restaurants still taking reservations.”

“Cool.” Stiles smiles. “Um, Yolanda also said there’s this band doing a pretty cheap concert in Manhattan, if you wanna I can have her grab some tickets for that, too.”

“Alright. Let’s do that, then.” Derek’s only met Yolanda once, but she seems like a cool person. And, he thinks quietly to himself, would be chill. Not too much, nothing that would overwhelm Stiles.

“You gotta get ready for work soon?” Stiles asks, looking down at his watch. Derek does the same – it’s nearing eleven a.m., and if he’s driving it takes a half hour, _at least_ , to get to work. Luckily, Stiles lives almost along the way, meaning it wouldn’t be too hard to leave at just after noon and have time to drop him off and get to work with plenty of time.

“Soon. Let’s finish this first.” Derek grabs the paper, pulling it back over between the two of them and picking up the pencil from where it’s rolled near the middle of the island.

Stiles puts his head back on Derek’s shoulder, leaves his hand on Derek’s forearm, and Derek’s _content_.

*

_Hellllp meeeee._

Stiles sends the text to Lydia before throwing his phone back onto his bed, looking over his closet again. He’s – okay, he’s totally _not_ trying to _impress_ Derek, who’s very aware that his usual attire consists of t-shirts, long-sleeve plaids, and sweatshirts, plus various jeans and colored pants, but he wants to look _nice_. The restaurant Derek’d gotten reservations at is a little hole-in-the-wall type of place, nothing too fancy but fancier than fucking McDonald’s or something like that.

Sure, colored jeans, probably. Grey or black, maybe dark red if he’s feeling particularly risky. But he’s not sure, and he’s even less sure what the hell to wear on top.

**Lyds** _?????_

His phone beeps with Lydia’s text tone, and he lunges toward his bed, plopping down as he reads her text. He sighs.

_Idk what to wear tonight :(_

There’s a moment after he sends it, him looking at his open closet again from his bed, eyes searching over everything inside, carefully ordered by color. Then, his phone is going off again, this time with Lydia’s ringtone. He looks down, sees her picture lighting up his phone, picks up.

“Hi,” he greets her, voice dejected.

“You don’t know what to _wear_ tonight?” she asks, clearly incredulous. And like – whoa, hey now.

“You haven’t asked me for opinions on your clothes since sophomore year of college, Stiles,” she continues before he can protest, “You know by now, after six years of friendship with me, what looks good on you and what doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but,” Stiles starts, then stops, sighing, voice quieter when he speaks again, “I just, y’know, want to make sure I’m dressed correctly for, like, this.”

Lydia’s quiet for a moment.

“Derek’s not gonna give a shit what you’re wearing. You could show up in a speedo made of burlap and he’d be happy just to see you.”

That’s a stretch, but also a terrible and hilarious image and Stiles can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Lydia’s giggling along with him, so he guesses it’s okay.

“But really,” Lydia continues after they’re done chuckling, “You still have that blazer you wore all the time in high school? The navy one?”

Stiles sits up straighter, thinking it over. He got rid of a lot of clothes over his time in college, as his style changed, but he’s pretty sure he kept that blazer, too many memories attached to it.

“Yeah.”

“It still in good condition? Fits you?”

“As good condition as it’s ever been in. And it should, my physique hasn’t changed that much since high school.”

Lydia laughs again.

“You’ve filled out nicely,” she comments, and the sixteen-year-old Stiles that still lives in the back of his brain whoops a little at that, “But you’re right, it should. It was a little big back then. Do that, with those navy wash jeans you have. Black belt. White tee, and those oxfords you keep in the back of your closet.”

Stiles, by this time in his friendship, doesn’t bother asking how Lydia knows about those shoes – he’s only worn them once, to an interview senior year of college, because they’d cost a full day’s pay back then. Now, he does make more money, but he’s never been good about spending it. Rent is outrageous in the City, for one, and for two, he grew up low-middle class since his mom’s hospital bills had _stacked up_. His dad was still paying a few of them off, though it would only be a couple more years. Money still _feels_ like something that needs to be hoarded, because he easily remembers a time when his dad, even as Sherriff making a good salary, had barely been able to make ends meet between hospital bills, Stiles’ meds, house and car payments, and groceries for a growing boy.

So he doesn’t want to ruin the oxfords that he’d impulse-bought, but they _would_ look exceptionally good with the outfit Lydia’s put together. He has to give her that.

“And please stop by Malia’s place and make sure she’s okay for her date tonight, okay? She was pretty nervous when I talked to her last night.”

“Will do,” Stiles confirms, mapping out how much time it’s gonna take him to thoroughly shower, get dressed, and stop by Malia’s apartment that’s two floors above the one Stiles, Allison, and Scott share and still be ready when Derek pulls up at seven, considering it’s already five-thirty, “Thanks, Lyds.”

“Of course. And feel free to crash here if you don’t end up staying at Derek’s place, lord _knows_ you’re not going to want to go home, who knows what Ally and Scott are planning.”

Stiles doesn’t have to be in the room to know that Lydia’s just rolled her eyes, because they _all_ do that when it comes to V-Day and his best bro’s relationship. They’ve _all_ had to deal with that side of things, as Allison and Scott had been together seven Valentine’s Day’s this year.

He hangs up with a quick “goodbye”, double checking to make sure his phone doesn’t need to be charged before pulling out all the clothes he’s gonna need, laying them out on his bed before heading to the bathroom. Luckily, he had the apartment to himself, Scott at work until seven-thirty and Allison until eight. He puts some Taylor Swift on his speakers on high, hearing it blasting through the apartment and he turns on the shower. It’s enough to, for now, calm his nerves.

*

The restaurant, which has been a favorite of Derek’s since his second year in the City, is one they’ve been to at least seven times in the year of their friendship. It’s not weird that the hostess smiles when they arrive, greeting them both by name and leading them directly to their table near the windows, as requested. It’s a second-floor place, above a bodega, and overlooks the street below, which is lit up with nightlife as it always is. A little more rocking than it normally might be on a Wednesday night, couples all over the place, but not too loud as to interrupt the atmosphere of the restaurant.

Derek orders drinks as soon as they’re sat down – a margarita for Stiles, a special of the place, and a Bloody Mary for himself – and ignoring the menu, since he always orders the same thing. Instead, he watches as Stiles peruses the menu, smiling softly, and it’s enough to make Stiles flush a little.

“You know it’s creepy to stare at someone,” he murmurs, not bothering to look up from the menu. Derek laughs, leaning forward slightly so Stiles can hear him over the other patrons.

“I’m just amazed sometimes.”

“At what?” Stiles asks, throwing one short glance at Derek, eyebrows raised in question.

“That _you_ decided you wanted to date me.”

Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek at that, clear confusion in his expression because yeah, what? That’s not something he’s necessarily ever imagined Derek thinking, because Derek’s the one who’s an alpha werewolf, literally one of the hottest people Stiles has ever laid eyes upon, the dude who’s just a few months away from getting a Ph.D. from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Stiles is…he’s considerably more self-confident than he was in like, high school, but he’s still just _Stiles_. Derek’s just staring back at him, small, soft smile on his face and yeah, it hits Stiles, that he’s obviously and incredibly in love with this man.

Before he can so much as respond, say anything, someone comes up next to their table. It’s not the waitress, however, when Stiles drags his eyes away from Derek’s face to look up. No, it’s Malia.

“This is where you guys are spending Valentine’s Day?” she asks, smile on her face that Stiles so rarely sees.

“Hey,” he responds at the same moment Derek says “Hi, Malia”. He looks around, doesn’t see Kira, though.

“Where’s Kira?” he asks as she nods in greeting to Derek. She looks back at him, glances toward the back of the restaurant.

“Washroom. I saw you guys and thought I’d say hi, and, also,” the smile falls off her face as she winces, glances between Derek and Stiles before her eyes lock onto her packmate, “I’m kinda nervous. Just. Pack bond helps and all that.”

Stiles sets the menu down, looks to Derek who’s watching him as well, and he lets out a huff of a laugh because really, she has _no reason_ to be nervous. He looks back up at Malia to see the stress lines in her expression.

“She really likes you, y’know, and she’s probably just as nervous,” he tells Malia, who’s face instantly softens.

“I really like her, too.”

She fiddles with her hands for a moment, and then Derek’s letting out a short sigh under his breath.

“Where are you guys sitting?” he asks, and Malia looks at him in confusion before turning, pointing to a table a few down from them.

“Why don’t you ask the hostess if you can move over here, we’ll get a four-seater and make it a double? Would probably help both of you, it’s a little less pressure on you both,” he suggests, and Malia’s face – transforms. It’s much more relaxed, and she lets out a breath she probably hadn’t noticed she was holding.

“I mean – if it won’t intrude on you two?” she asks, glancing at Stiles. He meets Derek’s eyes, and there’s a moment where they’re looking at each other, Stiles easily able to read the way Derek moves his eyebrows, shifts his nose a little.

“Of course not,” Stiles assures Malia, “Ask the hostess, I see Kira coming out right now.”

Stiles shifts until he’s sitting next to Derek instead of across from him as Malia makes her way back over to her table, meeting Kira and mentioning a few things. She looks over, face alighting when she sees Derek and Stiles, and nods along with whatever Malia’s saying as they both go over to the front of the restaurant.

“She smelled so anxious,” Derek whispers just loud enough for Stiles to hear, “Even after you told her how much Kira likes her. I thought – y’know, it would probably help them both, cut down on the pressure and allow for that same pack bond feelings.”

“It was a good idea,” Stiles assures him when he hears the slight uncertainty in Derek’s voice, “I agree.”

Derek nods, then smiles in amusement.

“Figured it might also help with some of your anxiety.”

Stiles winces. “You can smell that?”

Derek nods.

“I would ask why if I didn’t feel the same way,” he tells Stiles, which. Yeah, does make Stiles feel a little better. He shrugs.

“I just want it to be a good day.”

“Believe me,” Derek responds, looking Stiles in the eye, “Any day I get to see you is a good day.”

God, yeah, Stiles is in love with this man. Again, before he can so much as say anything in reply, Kira and Malia are sitting down across from them, smiles on both their faces as Kira greets them.

“You guys ordered yet?” Malia asks, and Derek shakes his head.

“Just drinks,” he says, reaching over on the table to take hold of Stiles’ hand, giving it a little squeeze.

Maybe nothing needs to be said, at least not yet.

*

The band is good – it’s music Derek’s into, and Stiles seems to be enjoying it as well. They’re sitting at a table near the stage, left side, with Yolanda and her fiancée Chad, both of whom have been great thus far. They don’t seem to have any issue with spending Valentine’s Day with another couple, everyone bopping along to the music, and it’s a chill atmosphere. Stiles is nowhere near drunk, but between dinner and the cider he has now he’s gotten the slightest bit tipsy and is starting to get a little handsy, leaning against Derek with a hand on his thigh.

It’s halfway through the set, about a half hour in, that Derek’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He thinks for a moment about ignoring it – there’s a good chance it’s work – but it’s only a few seconds before he decides it’s worth it to at least _check_ , as it’s just as likely to be one of this pack, for any number of reason.

It is. Cora.

**Cora** _Know you’re out with Stiles, but we’ve got a situation. Boyd and Erica were in a major car accident, they’re being taken to the hospital._

Stiles glances down at the screen as Derek reads through the message, eyebrows raising with every word.

“Fuck,” Stiles says from next to him, just under his breath, and meets Derek’s eyes with just as surprised an expression on his face as Derek is sure he has. It’s unusual for weres to be forced to go to the doctor – only in extremely severe cases when they don’t heal fully before the paramedics arrive, so Derek figures this was _bad_. Regardless, if they can’t get out of the hospital fast enough, _someone’s_ going to notice that Boyd and Erica are healing _much too fast_ , and unfortunately, hunters are _everywhere_. Even without hunters, random humans recognizing superior healing ability – it’s not unusual to see supernatural creatures taken to secret government compounds to be tested on.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Stiles, getting up. Stiles, for his part, shakes his head, holding on to Derek’s forearm and breaking eye contact, leaning over the table to say something to Yolanda, low enough Derek can’t hear it over the bass rumbling through the bar. Stiles nods and Yolanda’s eyes flicker to Derek for a moment. She gives him a little wave and then Stiles is standing up as well, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. Derek waits until they’re outside, away from the pounding music, to speak up again.

“You’re coming with me?” he asks as the two of them step out into the winter night, flipping their coats on. Stiles snorts, shoving his hands in his coat pocket as they begin walking off toward the parking garage.

“Of course I’m coming with you. I care about Erica and Boyd, too,” he bumps Derek with his shoulder, “And you, of course.”

It’s not until they’re climbing into the Camaro that Stiles speaks up again.

“Feel free to drop me off at Lydia and Jackson’s place if you don’t want me there, though. She said I could drop by their place if need be, and, uh, I don’t want to intrude if you don’t want me there.”

He’s biting his lip, in that very certain way that Derek knows to associate with nervousness even though he can smell it too, and god but it’s not a pleasant smell. It’s one that if Derek could help, he would make sure Stiles never smells of it again. He shakes his head, pulls out of his parking space.

“I want you there.” _Always_ , he adds to himself. One day, he’ll say it for real.

*

The entire situation had been finished quickly - though the paramedics had insisted on Boyd and Erica going to the hospital to get checked out, they were obviously fine, mostly healed, by the time Derek and Stiles got there (the cab driver, for his part, hadn’t been hurt beyond a few minor scratches). They released both of them just a while later, after plenty of insisting by Erica that her arm was not broken, even though the paramedics who'd arrived on scene had definitely seen bone, they claimed.

It had, as it always is when supernatural individuals collide so dramatically with the common world, required some mild coverup, but when the doctors recognized that, no, indeed, while Erica's arm was mildly fractured, it wasn't as broken as the paramedics had said. Instead of casting it, they'd given her a splint and a suggestion to come back in a few days to check it over again, double checked Boyd for the concussion the paramedics said he had, and released the two of them not long after.

Even so, they're not out of the hospital until after midnight, and they're all exhausted (especially Derek, who's been awake since four a.m.).

"Your apartment or mine?" is what Derek asks when they all tumble back into Derek's car, Cora and Isaac having left earlier and taken the subway. Erica's still grumbling about her splint, though Derek had reminded her that the break had been pretty bad, and the splint would at least make sure it healed in the correct position. Boyd good-naturedly rolls his eyes, helping her to get in the back.

Stiles pauses for a moment, glancing over at Derek.

"I don't have to work tomorrow, so...yours, I guess? If you're okay with that?"

Erica straight up snorts from the backseat, and it makes Stiles flush, a shot of anxiety sprouting from him. Derek doesn’t glare at Erica like he would like to, but just reaches over, clasps his hand around Stiles’, smiles at him.

“Of course.”

_Of course_ , it’s hell waking up the next morning, but at least he does it _naturally_ , not having to be into work until noon. Derek blinks, glancing at the clock on his dresser to check the time – eight a.m. He’s known for being an early riser anyway, rarely sleeps past eight, and he can hear someone – Kira, he guesses by the gentle shuffling – coming in to the apartment. He smiles – she must’ve had a good night – and turns back around toward Stiles. Derek’s arms are still wrapped around him, their legs entangled, the tell-tale rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat letting Derek know he’s still asleep. Carefully, he extracts himself, placing one light kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck before he gets up.

Stiles is awake when he gets back up to the bedroom a half hour later – a quick hello to Kira, who blushed when Derek commented on her getting in so late – on his phone, texting someone. He looks up when Derek opens the door, eyes lighting up when he sees the tray in Derek’s hands. Derek pushes the door shut with his elbow, climbing back onto the bed as Stiles sits up, smile on his face.

“Breakfast in bed?” he comments, taking the tray from Derek so he can properly sit down. Derek shrugs, leaning back against the headboard next to his boyfriend.

“Apology for last night. It wasn’t, necessarily, the best way to end Valentine’s Day.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, a sight that’s all too common but unusually directed toward Derek, taking one of the mugs of coffee.

“Not your fault, dude. And anyway, it was…it was okay, even with all that happened.” He stops, takes a drink and turns to look directly at Derek. “Any day spent with you is a good one, regardless of what we’re doing.”

Derek – he’s in love. So, deeply, intensely in love. After a moment of staring at each other, Derek reaches over, takes Stiles’ face in one of his hands, careful not to shift too much and knock over the tray precariously laying on Stiles’ lap, and kisses him. It’s soft, gentle, Derek pouring everything he doesn’t feel he can share with Stiles yet into it, and when he pulls back Stiles is looking at him with an expression that makes Derek’s heart beat a little faster.

“You have to go to work today?” Stiles whispers, and Derek nods, heartstrings pulling when he sees Stiles’ face droop a little.

“Just a couple hours, though, just to finish up some paperwork,” he continues, “I’ll be back before you know it, if you wanna stay here and when I get back we can have dinner, do something.”

Stiles laughs.

“Do…something?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows a few times, and Derek leans in, kisses him again, dirtier this time.

“Whatever you want,” he confides a few moments later, flush on Stiles’ cheeks, their foreheads pressed together.

Stiles opens his mouth, about to say something, before it snaps closed, his heartbeat suddenly increasing, turning redder in the face. He swallows, places one more small peck on Derek’s lips before pulling away entirely.

“Breakfast,” he says at the exact moment Derek’s stomach gives a small growl. It breaks whatever tension is there, and Stiles huffs in laughter.

“Breakfast,” Derek agrees, picking up the other mug of coffee and passing Stiles a spoon so he can dig into his peanut butter oatmeal.

All in all, Derek figures, it easily beats out most of his Valentine’s Days. All of them, when he considers the person he’s with.

**Author's Note:**

> you can occasionally find me at [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, thanks for all the comments on my other fics, I'll get around to replying later tonight or tomorrow!!!


End file.
